Title: Burn the Witch!

Summary: Kink meme prompt: "His beginning happens exactly as it normally would, except when he walks into the village everyone is terrified because it must be a witch, a vengeful ghost, a demon! The townspeople react as expected of God-fearing settlers of the 17th century when confronted with what looks like a boy who just died walks into the middle of town and starts trying to strike up conversations. Jack has no idea what's going on and runs away.

Cue Nightmare King sensing all the fear that's being generated and goes to investigate what could possibly be the cause of all this, only to find a little newborn spirit who doesn't know anything about the world at all!"

Pairing(s): Blackice

Rating: K

Warning(s): Discrimination.

Word Count: 1,055

The soft glow of a nearby village beckoned a weary spirit by the name of Jack Frost.

Warm light captured in his mind, his eyes closed, his breath exhaling slowly as he curled his fingers around his frosted staff. Raising it, he focused, his pale face tight with curious apprehension. Sure enough, the wind twirled around him like a lost friend, coaxing an uncertain chuckle out of him. It lifted him up in the air more gently than before, then it started to escort him to the village.

As the rush of the wind sent him racing past the tall, forest green trees, Jack slowly opened his eyes and gave a quick look around. It was then when the wind added more power, shooting him up, up over the dense woodlands. It paused at a bird's eye of the village. As he stood up in the sky, the gust of air billowed around his cloak, giving him the appearance of a faraway prince; lunar beams made his hair seem even more unnaturally white. Orienting his eyes towards the glow, he made a sudden dip, falling freely against the night sky. A grin drew at his lips and he laughed, icy blue eyes brightening up considerably as a strange sort of dance ensued between him and his airy companion.

The luminous moon gave a tiny smile at this.

Naturally, Jack's face, then had to be acquainted with the stone walls of a building.

Rubbing his head, he grimaced, pulled himself off the snowy ground, and picked up his staff. He thanked the wind for its help – even doing a little bowing – and sent course for the village. In short time, he came across it. It was small, but seemed to be nice a place. His eyes lit up when he heard the laughter of playing children. He wondered what kind of fun they were having.

He took a step inside the village grounds.

A couple of blank-faced women let out a gasp when Jack passed by them, their faces white, their eyes protruding as they gazed at his retreating back. One of them, a mother, clutched her infant close to her – a fierce cry breaking out – and buried her face into her daughter's blanket.

Jack pretended not to notice. It was probably because they don't receive travelers often – yet there was something familiar about those reactions. He only wished he knew the connection.

"Um, Excuse me?" he asked, stopping a young woman in her tracks, "May you please tell me where I am?"

The woman paled and shook her head, her eyes wide with pity – or perhaps something akin to scorn? – as she regarded him.

She took a breath, rested her hand on his shoulder, and answered soberly, "Let mercy be upon you, hellion."

With that, she sobbed and took off into a frantic run. Frowning, Jack bit his lip and carried on, trying to ease the nervous energy within him.

This gathered the attention of the other villagers who were otherwise trying to cast Jack's presence as a figment of their imagination. The men's eyes grew cold; the women's lips were as hard as stone. The children simply tilted their heads.

An old man frowned, the lines in his aged, brown face deepening, his eyes clouding up as the villagers began to murmur.

"Poor lad," he muttered, shaking his head before lying down. Repentance is, at once, thin and thick.

Jack was glad to finally find the source of the laughter: a small group of children as expected.

Crouching down to a small boy's level, he waved at him and chuckled at his gaping face. "I don't suppose you could tell me where I am?"

The boy did not seize his gaping.

"Are you alright, kid?"

Still no response.

"If it's the hair, I know it looks odd, but – "

"Step away from the child, witch!"

Jack turned around to face a mob of glaring villagers bearing pitchforks. A short, stout man with a hard-featured face stood at the center, his pitchfork angled with more murderous intent than the others. His eyes were the coldest of all.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "And just where are the torches?"

A villager lifted one up.

"Oh, alright, then," Jack said.

The short, stout man scowled. "Enough! Hush your fruitless words, witch, and rid your damned spirit from this village, or you shall be wedded entirely to the flame!"

"I…I don't understand," said Jack, wobbling some as he stood up. His legs moved backwards slowly, his eyes becoming large and childlike.

"If thou care not to comply," the short, stout man said, a grin forming at the corners of his mouth, "thou shall suffer thy crime."

Turning his head, he barked orders to the mob. "Men, seize him!"

In that instant, Jack ran for his life – and never once looked back.

Hurling himself over a log, Jack went deeper into the woods. The villagers' chanting was drawing near. If he doesn't pick up the pace, he'll be a goner. Knocking away another branch, he felt himself tire. He looked back and there were lights.

There was no time for rest.

He felt weaker and weaker by the minute. His cloak caught on to a bush. Pulling it roughly, his fingers drew blood. He just kept on running. The blood painted the snow crimson. The chanting grew louder and louder. Stumbling across an open area, his body fell on top of the snow. Lifting his head, he gazed at the moon.

He pleaded.

There was no answer.

A shadow loomed over him.

Jack raised his staff towards it.

The shadow laughed. "A brave one, aren't you?"

Scowling, Jack slumped down and rested his elbows on his knees.

The shadow moved close to him. An inky strand caressed his cheek. It spoke slowly, solemnly, almost sympathetically. "The source of the fear was…you, wasn't it?"

Jack grimaced, turned his head, and gave a small nod.

The shadow then shifted into the form of a tall man with gold eyes and pitch black hair. The man lifted his chin. Those gold eyes examined him.

"It will be alright," he said.

Jack wished he could believe him.

"There he is!" said a villager.

The man's shadow engulfed the two of them.

It was the beginning of an odd friendship – and an even odder romance.

A/N: Reviews very much appreciated. Please tell me what you thought.